


a short rest

by whatamidoingeven



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, in canon, mentions of blood and canon typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 12:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatamidoingeven/pseuds/whatamidoingeven
Summary: After a particularly taxing battle, the team gathers in a safe room, leaving the two members with the most to talk about behind.





	a short rest

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by art drawn by radiostarkiller

“Did you even think about what you were doing?!”

Ann’s voice fills the quiet of the now-empty safe room, the rest of the group having come to settle their nerves and breathe, leaving behind just the two of them afterwards. Usually, Makoto would complain-- they could have trailed the others, at least. But the blood and searing pain still coming from her shoulder quell any arguments she may have had.

“Sorry.” Makoto mumbles, quiet, just non-committal enough that she won’t feel guilty when she inevitably does the same thing again in the future.

It hadn’t been her fault, really. More instinct than intent pushed her feet forward, made her dive right into an incoming Bufula that was heading immediately at Ann, who had already been thrown off her feet by the previous strike. 

Of course, it was hard to convince her girlfriend it wasn’t a big deal when the act almost took Makoto out herself, to the point where she could barely hear Ann’s screams over the heartbeat pounding in her ears. 

“You’re so stubborn.” Ann huffs, rubbing the medicine against Makoto’s bare shoulder, the chill running down her spine, “I would’ve been fine.”

“Hm.” Makoto hums, not convinced. 

Ann catches it, and even though she can’t see her face, Makoto can practically hear the frown when she says, “Why don’t you trust me?”

“I-I do!” Makoto stutters, and Ann’s hands still. “It’s not about trust—“

“What  _ else  _ would it be about? I may not be as physically strong as you are, but I can always recover.”

“I just hate seeing you hurt. There was no way that wasn’t going to end up doing major damage.”

“For an honor student, you’re a real idiot.” There’s a shuffling before Ann slips a chilled can into Makoto’s hand from over her shoulder. “Drink.” 

Makoto gulps, steels herself before popping the top and drinking the soda down in large gulps, almost gagging when she reaches the end of it. 

“It’s so… salty.” The can of NEO dissipates in her grasp as she coughs, her mouth dry.

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get.” Ann says, giving her a moment to breathe as warmth spreads throughout her skin, the areas around the wounds tighten and seal️. “Do you think I feel any better seeing you get hit than you do when I’m hurt?” 

“It’s not— it’s not about that.” She mumbles. Honestly, she hadn’t thought about it, only imagining what would happen if she hadn’t stepped in. 

There’s a sudden clash, the sound of cans and bottles colliding as one of the bags holding their supplies is tossed to the floor. “You just don’t get it, do you? What would’ve happened if that attack was just a little stronger? And what if the rest of us weren’t able to do anything to help? How do you think I would’ve felt knowing you only took that hit for my sake?”

Makoto can’t respond to that. She survived, but if the contact had been even a few inches to the right…

Well, they probably wouldn’t be having this conversation right now if it had. 

“I just..” Makoto starts and stops, hesitates on the next confession before she realizes she has to be honest, that they won’t get anywhere if she isn’t. “I can’t lose you. Not if there’s anything I can do to stop it.” 

A sharp breath brings in a tense pause, only to be broken by a long sigh, and a soft touch running against her back. “Makoto.” 

It’s joined by another pressure, paired with warmth as Ann’s voice gets softer. “You won’t lose me. I won’t go down that easily.”

Makoto nods, though the words do little to alleviate the soreness in her chest at the mental image of Ann, crumpled up on the floor, totally still, the memory of a dark and empty apartment, a stranger at the door.

“Look at me.” She barely hears Ann ask, but turns around as arms snake around her. “I’m here, okay?”

There’s words to say, but Makoto can’t find them. Doesn’t even try to look for them, instead leaning in, lips speaking for her. One kiss slowly becomes another, slow and gentle.

When they pull apart, they’re still close enough that Makoto can feel Ann’s breath mingle with her own as she laughs, and says, “Someone has to keep you from stupidly rushing into things without thinking, right?”

“I didn’t think it was stupid.” She mutters, the heat still radiating from her shoulder, wounds stinging in contradiction. 

The white noise of the safe room blends with the softness of Ann’s arms around her, the feeling of her body working at repairing itself, and her eyelids grow heavy as she rests her forehead against Ann’s, “What do we do now, then? I don’t think the others will be back any time soon.”

“What do you have in mind?” Ann asks, but her smirk is its own tell, and Makoto’s hand betrays her intention, running up a red leather clad thigh. 

Only to be smacked away by Ann, “You jerk. Almost killing yourself and then making a move. What kind of royalty does that?”

“What kind of royalty only does what’s expected?” Makoto says with a smile, and brings that hand against Ann’s shoulder, shoving her back against the plush couch of the safe room as she yelps and drags Makoto with her.

Ann’s retaliatory slug against her good shoulder is half-hearted at best, “Ass. Some sort of Prince Charming you are.”

“See, that’s where you’re making the mistake. You’re expecting behavior suited to a prince, but you’re romancing a queen.” Ann rolls her eyes, but tugs her closer.

Makoto doesn’t resist, but the wincing the move prompts doesn’t go unnoticed. “How bad is it?”

“Getting better.” Makoto offers as a non-answer, and Ann shifts, until they’re both lying on their sides. Moving her arms, she makes sure the part of Makoto that’s still vividly red and sensitive touches nothing but the air. “Thank you.”

Ann’s response is to burrow herself against the crook of Makoto’s neck, squeeze her a little tighter. If it weren’t for the odd decor, the wavering in her vision and the unearthly aura healing scarred skin, Makoto might place them at Ann’s apartment, instead of deep inside a Palace. 

Maybe that’s an obvious observation, but it drives home that actions have visceral consequences. Her wounds might not show the same way in the real world, she might not wake tomorrow with long scars across her back, but she’ll certainly be sore. If she had timed everything slightly worse, her absence would have been felt there, too. 

It’s not enough, but she still whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Ann makes a small noise, muffled by Makoto’s scarf. “Let’s get some rest, okay?” 

Makoto takes in everything-- aware of all the points of contact between them, of how Ann curves against her, the residual aroma of fire, sweat and medicine, and nods, letting herself drift off.

It’s only when the rest of the group returns to the safe room that she wakes, and if anyone notices how much closer the two of them stand when they walk out of the Metaverse together, they don’t mention it.

* * *

 


End file.
